Eleven-year-old Sammy Winchester lounges on the bare floor in front of the under-stuffed couch. It's late in the evening and the television's volume is turned up loud to help keep him from dozing off. He’s waiting up for his big brother to return home from his date.

"Sam -- SAMMY?"

Startled, Sam looks up to see his father’s daunting frame filling the doorway to the kitchen, a grim look on his tired face. John Winchester deliberately parked in the rear of the house and entered through the backdoor.

Sam hadn't heard his father enter the house, never mind the room. Sam reaches up to lower the volume on the television set.

"Um hi, Dad. When'd you get home?"

"Couple minutes ago," John explains in a gruff voice.

Sam eyes his father purposely unbuttoning the right cuff on his flannel sleeve. John rolls the cuff up his muscular forearm.

Sam's stomach clenches. He knows this is not good. Sam feels nauseous as his heart jumps into his throat. A light headedness comes over him as he forgets to breathe. His dad is rolling up his sleeves and that usually means one thing. Somebody's butt is going to be warm and sore.

"Dad, I didn't do it!" Sam blurts out in a panic.

John looks down at his left cuff. A small grin crosses his unshaven face. He steels his facial expression before raising a stern glare towards his youngest.

"Do what, son?" John asks with a bite of innocence in his voice.

Sam quickly shuts his mouth tight as he realizes no crime has been specified. He could rattle off a list of Dean’s offences, but that would be tattling. Both Dean and his father seriously frown on his tattling, each having their own reasons. With the way his father is glaring at him, he isn't feeling so confident that he won't spill his guts if his father asks. He might have to sacrifice his brother's ass for his own.

John crooks an eyebrow at his second born. "See that it doesn't." It's usually Dean who thinks this quick on his feet. Either Dean is rubbing off on Sam or his youngest is growing into his own. John realizes he will have to be more creative when he interrogates Sam in the future.

"Where's your brother?” John surveys the empty room.

Crap! Dean's not back from his date with the chick from the bakery. "He was really tired and went to bed early," Sam cringes to himself as he lies. Dad’s going to roast my butt. I’ll never be able to sit down again.

“Go get him. We need to discuss something important,” John orders.

“Dad, he was really tired. I don’t know if he’s feeling okay. We shouldn’t wake him.”

“If he’s sick, I’ll go check on him,” John calls Sam’s bluff. The kid is definitely on the path to a sore, red bottom.

“That’s okay dad, I’ll go.” Sam starts towards the stairs.

“Before you go up, give me your cell phone. I need to program a new contact number into it.” John indisputably holds his hand out, palm up.

Double Crap! The hole he’s digging himself into keeps getting deeper and deeper. Sam’s already gone too far with the charade. He really doesn’t want to spend the next couple of nights sleeping on his stomach after his dad gets through with him.

“My phone’s in my bedroom,” Sam states. “I’ll go get it.”

“What’s that in your back pocket, son?”

“Oh, umm, I didn’t know it was there,” Sam stutters in embarrassment. He grins sheepishly and shrugs as he reluctantly hands over his only communication line to his brother.

He turns towards the stairs, realizing he’s screwed and his dad probably knows Dean’s not up there. How does his dad always know? I’m going to be over his knee with my butt in the air. This sucks. Sam lowers his head as he turns towards his father.

“Okay,” Sam takes a deep breath. “Dean’s not up there, but you probably already knew that.”

“Plant your butt on the couch, now.”

Sam contorts his body sideways as he passes his father to the designated spot. He’s unable to avoid the stinging swat his father applies to his behind.

“Hey! What’s that for? Dean’s the one who snuck out, not me,” Sam declares belligerently as he gives his behind a rub.

“You didn’t just lie to me when I asked you about your brother?” John crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re always telling me not to tattle on Dean. So I didn’t,” Sam shoots back.

“And don’t you worry about your brother. He and I will have our own special talk when he decides to stroll back in here.”

Sam winces. He knows from his father’s tone that whatever he is about to get isn’t going to be anything close to what Dean’s butt will suffer later. Dad is pissed. Sam sees it in his eyes. He reads it on his face.

Sam lied and tried to cover for his brother. Dean snuck out against orders, leaving him here by himself for the night. And who knows when Dean will actually stumble back in with the cockiest of grins plastered across his face.

“Yes, sir,” Sam moans.

“Samuel, do we need to discuss why you are being punished?” John pulls a chair around from under the desk. He sits down on the hardwood seat to face his combative child. John pats the top of his thighs with both palms.

“So, we do need to discuss this. You lied to me about where your brother is.”

“Two weeks ago, you smacked my ass for tattling on Dean. You can’t have it both ways...” John’s steel glare sends a chill through Sam, “…Dad…um...sir,” Sam stutters, losing some of his bravado.

“First off, watch your mouth, young man, or you’ll be eating soap before bed tonight. Second, there is a difference between tattling and being truthful when I ask you a direct question about your brother. This is not tattling. I need to know you are both safe. That includes knowing where you both are. I need to know you are watching out for each other. Are we clear?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s see if I can make this a little clearer for you. Front and center.”

Sam’s stubbornness angers John but he understands his son’s point of view. Sam had to choose between the wrath of his father or the approval of his beloved older brother. Today, Sam chose his brother. There are consequences to suffer for that decision. Sam idolizes Dean but John needs Sam to understand he is the father. He gives the orders and makes the rules. Hopefully, Sam will acknowledge his offense and they can move on without John having to tenderize the kid’s butt too much.

Sam pads over to his father’s right thigh. He raises his eyes towards the ceiling. He bites his lower lip. He lowers his head to contemplate going over his father’s knees. He leans in to lie gingerly over his old man’s lap.

“You ready for your spanking, son?”

“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Sam responds belligerently.

“Well, I’ll try to help you with that.”

Sam closes his eyes tight, waiting for his dad to remove his briefs and pajama pants. He anticipates his father’s firm hand warming his behind.

A moment passes as John contemplates the offense. He secures his son to his lap with his left arm. He brings a barrage of firm, stinging swats to the thinly covered bottom laid over his lap.

John quickly moves his aim directly to the sensitive sit spots. He needs to address his son’s attitude and stubbornness. He doesn’t want to prolong the punishment but needs to make a lasting impression. Ultimately, he can’t tolerate being lied to, no matter what the circumstances. In their family business, a lie could be a matter of life or death.

Sam yelps at the early attention to his most sensitive area. With no warm-up swats, the intensity of his dad’s whacks register sharply to his brain.

“OWW! DAD! That hurts! Stop, please!” Sam struggles.

After only a few minutes of masterful smacks, John ends his attention to Sam’s bottom.

Tears escape Sam’s eyes and roll down his flushed cheeks. His breathing is irregular with short deep gasps of air. His dad made his point, but compared to other times, John has gone easy on his butt.

John lifts Sam off his knees and places him in a sitting position on his lap. Sam winces and distorts his face in response to his stinging butt making contact with his dad’s muscular thighs. He fidgets to find a more comfortable position.

John wraps his huge arms around the squirming child sitting in his lap. He pulls Sam in close to his chest. He feels his son hiccup.

“Son, take a deep breath. Your hiccups will pass.”

Sam takes a deep breath, holds it as he snuggles into his father’s chest.

“Are you feeling better?” John gently rubs Sam’s back.

Sam nods slowly. He shifts his sore bottom in search of a more comfortable position.

“I understand you were sucked into Dean’s escapades tonight by your loyalty to your big brother.

“What second part?” Sam’s head bolts away from the warmth of his father’s chest.

He grabs his butt protectively.

“I want you to stand in the corner to think about what you will do the next time I ask you about your brother’s shenanigans.”

“No more spanking?”

“No, I expect your bottom is already warm enough. We’re done with the spanking, unless you think it will clear your thoughts?

“No, sir. Clear thoughts already, sir!”

“Good. Are you ready to get up?”

John runs his hands through Sam’s thick locks waiting for his son to make the next move.

“I’ll get up, Dad.”

John gives Sam a final tight squeeze and helps his son to his feet.

“Umm, Dad?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“Thanks for not…um…doing it on the bare,” Sam rubs his butt.

“My punishments fit the crime. But if we have to revisit this anytime soon you’ll be saying goodbye to those pants and briefs and hello to my hairbrush. You can think about that while you plant your nose in the corner.” John points to the living room corner farthest from the front door and closest to the kitchen entrance.

“Yes, sir,” Sam groans as he shuffles to the assigned spot.

Satisfied, John takes his duffle and exits up the carpeted stairs to his room to unpack. Sam stands in the corner as he contemplates his misdeeds, his stinging butt and the threat of the nasty hairbrush.

Sam wipes at the tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He unconsciously rubs at his tender butt. Corner time is lonely. At least if Dean was here they’d be suffering together.

Dean bursts through the front door yelling enthusiastically all the way into the living room. “Sammy, you won’t believe what that girl can do with a chocolate cream pie!” He eyes Sam in the corner, “Sam, you lose something? What are you doing over there…”

“Where is he?” Dean asks almost in a whisper. Sam doesn’t answer. He suddenly jolts his head back to face the corner.

Dean tenses, “Fuck, he’s right behind me.”

John grabs Dean’s shoulder with a firm grip. Dean jumps slightly from the unexpected grasp.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it hanging?” Dean asks casually.

“It’s hanging fine, son. And you?”

“Oh, could be better.”

John pauses, “You want to tell me anything before I set your butt on fire? Maybe why you left the house when you had a direct order to stay put and watch your brother.”

“I don’t need watching,” Sam mumbles into his corner.

“Samuel, do you need a reminder about corner time rules?” John directs towards Sam.

“No, sir.” Dad’s reminders can be very persuasive and very stingy.

“Then hold your position,” John orders.

“Well, Dean?” John returns his attention to his oldest.

“Umm, something came up with a friend and I had to go out. It was only for a couple of hours. Sam said he’d be okay and would call my cell if he needed me.”

“Not a reason why I shouldn’t roast your backside. And what ‘came up’ better not be what I’m thinking,” John crooks an eyebrow at his oldest.

“C’mon, dad. I’m sixteen.”

“Right, and like every hormonal teenager you’re thinking with your downstairs brain. You know better than to disobey a direct order. Maybe a sore bottom will give you something else to focus on.”

“Again dad, sixteen, too old.”

“I’m not having this discussion with you, again. Come here. Drop your jeans and briefs,” John orders. He stands to the side of the sofa chair. He points to the floor behind the back of the chair.

“But Sam’s here,” Dean glances over at his brother planted in the corner.

“Sam has his own issues to focus on. Like not trying to cover for his older brother? So don’t you worry about Sam. Now front and center.”

Dean sets the box he brought home onto the coffee table. He moves to the back of the big chair he usually seeks comfort in. His dad stands an arms length from him. Dean gives him a ‘whatever’ shrug. He reaches down to unbuckle his belt buckle but pauses. He holds his right hand over his stomach and looks down. Hmm, no belt. His facial expression glazes over as he thinks back to the adventures of two hours ago.

“Lose something?” John scoffs with a bit of amusement in his voice.

“Mus’ent’a put one on today,” Dean grins, knowing he left it at Candy’s.

“Bend over the back of the chair,” John instructs.

Dean slides his jeans down over his hips. They hit the bare floor with a thud. He leans forward over the chair back placing his brief covered butt in the air in a vulnerable position. He awkwardly reaches back with both hands to grab the waistband of his underpants.

“Said shorts too, kiddo.”

“C’mon dad. Can’t you give me something here? You know, not on the bare.”

“I’ll give you something,” John slides his fingers under the brief’s waistband and tugs. Dean holds tight as the thin cloth goes taunt across his teenage orbs.

“Dean, you have to the count of three to lose the shorts or I’m taking off my belt. One.”

“Dad, can’t we discuss this?”

“Already have, two.”

“Dean, please,” Sam pleads from his forgotten corner.

“Okay, okay.” Dean lets go of the waistband. He swings his arms around so they dangle forward by his head.

With a smooth motion, John exposes his son’s bare bottom. “What the hell is on your ass, Dean?” John bellows.

“Haven’t you ever seen a drawing of a sunrise before, dad?”

“Yeah, but not on my kid’s ass. Care to explain?”

“Not especially.”

John lands a firm solid smack to the bare butt in front of him. Sam jumps, startled by the loud crack of palm hitting bare flesh.

“Lose the smart ass, Dean.”

Dean smirks, “Candy likes to draw. She just wanted to show her appreciation for…”

“Dean,” John cuts his son off.

“Hey, you asked. Don’t worry, dad. It’ll wear off.”

“Let me see if I can help with that,” John begins a barrage of hard smacks to Dean’s backside.

Unprepared, Dean’s reflex reaction is to stand up straight. John leans closer to the side of the chair to place the full weight of his left hand on Dean’s back. He eases Dean back over into position.

Sam scrunches his eyes closed while covering his ears with his hands. His stomach clenches at the sound of the painful swats being applied to his brother's behind.

Tears well in Dean's eyes but he refuses to yell out or to cry with Sam in the room. He is the big brother.

Dean's buttocks are on fire. He's not sure how long he can continue his lasses-faire act.

With a smooth motion, John reaches into his jean's back pocket. He withdraws a wooden object. Using his upper body strength, he applies a resounding smack to Dean's sunrise. Dean lets out a high pitched yelp of surprise followed by a loud, "Son of a bitch!"

"Care to take this a little more seriously now, son?"

"Shit, yes. I mean, yes sir."

"Good. Why are you being punished?"

Dean collects himself, "I disobeyed your direct order to stay home and to take care of Sam." Dean shuts his eyes contemplating the hairbrush's next assault. His bare butt already registers at a four alarm fire level. A round with the hairbrush will put him over the edge.

"Anything else?"

"Nothing that won't get me smacked, again."

"Dean!" John admonishes.

"Sorry, dad. No, sir."

John nods his approval. He administers four stinging swats with the back of the hairbrush to Dean's crimson bare butt. Dean gasps once to hold his breath.

"Okay, we're done here," John announces.

Dean pushes himself off the chair back. He groans as he bends to pull his briefs up over his screaming behind. Dean gives his butt a gentle rub. "Jeez, dad. A little heavy handed."

Dean reaches to the floor to retrieve his jeans. He glides them slowly over his throbbing backside. He attempts to hide his facial expression of discomfort. He stretches to unsuccessfully ease the pain radiating from his hindquarters.

"Aw crap, dad. My ass is on fire," Dean quips.

"That should keep your butt out of trouble for at least a few days."

John plants his butt on the back of the chair he had used to chastise his son.

“Boys, I’ve let your language slide lately. It stops here. Clean up the swearing and bad language or suffer the consequence. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir,” both boys grumble.

He grabs the front of Dean's shirt and pulls him into a hug. Dean bends with the motion and allows his father to surround him with the arms which minutes ago were roasting his derriere.

"Dad, no chick flick moments."

John reaches down to sharply smack Dean's bottom. "Dean, do you ever know when to stop?"

Dean leans his head away from his father's chest. He wears an ear to ear smirk, "Can’t say that I do."

John pulls him back in close. With Dean's head resting on his shoulder, John eyes Sam across the room wiping at the tears rolling down his pink cheeks.

"Sam, come here."

"You gonna spank me?"

"Have you thought about what you're going to do next time I ask you about your brother's antics?"

"He’s going down," Sam grins proudly.

John motions with his free arm for Sam to come closer. He pulls Sam into a hug alongside his brother.

"Bitch," Dean mumbles into his father's shoulder.

"Jerk," Sam retorts.

"Boys," John admonishes with a light swat in unison to each rear end.

John feels a sense of warmth and comfort holding both his boys at once. The spankings he delivered weren’t to break their spirits. They were to punish their behavior and hopefully teach them to make better choices in the future.

Dean pulls away from his father's grasp. He gives his butt a rub. "Crap, dad. You’ve been working out? My butt still stings like a bitch."

Sammy unconsciously reaches back to rub his bottom. “And it was your fault,” Sam taunts.

“Sam, you earned every swat,” John corrects.

Dean quickly changes his attitude, "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, but I might be better if I saw what's in the box you brought home from bakery girl," Sam grins with sparkling eyes.

"Go ahead, squirt. Open it. I'll get the plates," Dean offers.

As John slices into the cherry pie goodness provided by Dean's latest fling, he feels a little mischievous. With a jovial grin, he asks casually, "So, Dean, which came first? The chocolate cream pie or the sunrise?"